


Remain nameless

by This_wild_abyss (holy_roller_novocaine)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-18 12:36:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11874594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holy_roller_novocaine/pseuds/This_wild_abyss
Summary: A spark, and across his palm the ocean roars forward, above it a behemoth with wings.





	1. Bare

Old Nan tells stories of the Age of Heroes, of grumpkins and snarks, of the long night, of the winter kings, of the origins of soul marks. Some people have names, some have a set of words, and then there’s the rare individuals who are marked by the touch of a soulmate–the image of their other half, but sometimes… Sometimes a soul is born complete and they are destined not.

When he was a child, father would sometimes roll up his sleeve and let him trace the words on his arm. It was faded, nothing like the fresh ink described by the maester; it was a set of words, the first words uttered to a soul mate. However, faded words meant a soulmate was no longer of this world. Jon always felt an ache at the thought.

Father’s words said in curling script: “I hope you are agile on your feet, my lord.”

Simple, unassuming, but to Jon they meant the world.

He would sometimes asks if these were his mother’s words, if father had loved her, if she had loved him, and this would lead to a plethora of other questions about her name, how she looked. Sometimes he would let the questions tether off into a narrative, imagining this phantom figure: “I think she was beautiful, and brave. And, and she…”

Regardless of his questions, of his childish, whimsical narrations about a yearned for phantom. Father never gave an answer, regardless of his imploring eyes searching for a positive or negative tell. Father would simply smile sadly and then hold him close.

As Jon grew older, he stopped asking; there was never a response. And as he watched the interactions between Father and Lady Stark, the possibility that his mother was father’s soulmate seemed more improbable.

* * *

 

Though it is ill-mannered, even taboo to some to flaunt your soul mark, Robb shares his set of words with Jon and traces them reverently as he does. Arya cares not for social decorum and shows him a name, and Jon knows that if he or Robb ever meet the poor sod they will wreak havoc. Sansa is all decorum; she does not acknowledge him and he returns the same courtesy. Bran shyly shares a long series of words in a language unknown to them all. And Rickon is still a babe guarded by the withering glare of Lady Stark.

And Jon… Jon’s skin is bare. Not a name or words in sight.

Meeting a soulmate is rare in this world. A person’s other half could exist anywhere in the seven kingdoms, or Essos or even the mysterious Sothoros. The social class structure does not mingle in Westeros, breaching decorum to satisfy what the god’s have gifted compromises duty and the laws of the land.

Jon is a bastard. He knows where he stands if his soulmate were a noble lady or even a servant.

This world is not kind, the gods even less so. 


	2. Anomaly

The self is mysterious.

As a child he would wonder why me? He was brought up amongst his true born siblings, given a nobleman's education, and trained in the ways of the sword. He was given some semblance of being equal to his siblings, but Jon was bastard who dreamed of being legitimized.

A dream deferred.

In this land of duty, Jon must find his calling. Though he is an excellent swordsman, the North has no knights, though with his father friend to the king and connected through marriage to Riverrun, surely a squireship could be arranged. Even a keep so he could be counted amongst Robb's future bannermen. But it was for not, father offered no options other than reiterating that Winterfell will always be his home.

However, this is not a home he will not be welcomed in it as long as Lady Stark presides over the household. So, he finds a purpose.

The Night's Watch is an honorable calling. The Stark name remains elusive to him, and though he is a stain on its pristineness he will bring honor to it by manning the wall as the Starks have thousands of years. Jon joins from the stories of ranging from Uncle Benjen, he joins for a sense of comradery amongst outsiders and misfits, but most of all Jon joins because he yearns for a sense of belonging.

He does not belong with his siblings or father, he does not belong to Winterfell. His skin is bare, he was either born with a complete soul or is fated to never know the touch of a soulmate. A name or words would have been enough, at least he would know that there was someone, somewhere that he belonged to and belonged to him, and together they were complete.

His main consolation is the bond he shares with his direwolf, Robb and Arya.

* * *

Jon knows nothing, but he learns. His base born status gave him a maturity that his sibling lacked and left him jaded in some senses.

Nevertheless, amongst the men of the Night's Watch, Jon realizes that he was coddled, treated as a would be second son, idealizing reality.

Jon may know nothing, but necessity is the mother of invention. He struggles, he falls in love, he becomes a leader, he's betrayed.

And all the while he still yearns for that missing someone.

* * *

Sansa is different.

They have never been close, but time, tragedy, and their experiences have molded them into different people.

But the solace of seeing a familiar face, of someone of the same blood changes their dynamic to one of tentative siblings.

After they have reunited, after they have taken Winterfell back, after they have settled back into their ancestral home, and the grit from war has been washed away along with their monstrous facades.

Sansa offers a gesture of trust, a contrast to her behavior of old.

She shows him a name. One that has become faded with time, she traces it mournfully, her smile reminiscent of their father.

"I met her. Though we could never be together, I was content as long as I could be in her presence," Her melancholic expression transforms into one of sheer loathing, "She died in the Great Sept of Baelor, Cercei Lannister killed her with wildfire."

He hugs his sister and promises her eventual vengeance, but for now there is another battle, and if they do not fight it, there will be no vengeance to be had.

* * *

Daenerys Targaryen is... there are no words, but the racing of his heart is answer enough.

He thinks, when she speaks of her past, her trails, her tribulations and he parallels himself to her.

He thinks, we are the same, one in the same.

And for a moment he wishes, maybe just maybe...

And yet, there is no time for that. Love is ruinous; this is a battle for life and death.

* * *

Amongst a brotherhood of men, at the edge of the seven kingdoms, beyond the Wall built in the Age of Heroes, Jon never thought he would find love.

Love is possible without a soulmate; a soulmate comes in any form of companionship.

At Ygritte's touch, he did not feel the spark, the burn, or searing pain that comes from a soulmark. But he felt fire nonetheless from the wilding woman kissed by flames.

In the years he has lived, in the dangers and trails he has undergone, in life, in death, not once did he ever think it would happen.

He yearned, of course.

But Daenerys made him aware, his senses haywire, but he would not trespass, did not dare, afraid if it was not true.

Until now.

"I am sorry, I am so sorry."

He reaches for her hand, eyes burning bright with sympathy, adoration and something fiercer.

At their contact, fire seems to catch in his veins and simmer beneath his skin.

Daenerys gasps, and Jon gapes; their hands spring a part.

His skin is bare, and then it is not. From the spark between them, across his palm an ocean roars forward, above it a behemoth with wings flies up his wrist and slithers around his forearm.

Jon closes his mouth and stares at his soulmark in awe, studying the intricate image to immortalize the sight. Then he looks to Daenerys, stare intent. Her eyes are wide, she has hastily pushed her sleeve back and revealed a rising moon, below it a running direwolf, and in between them a dragon taking flight.

Soulmarks are a reflection of the soul of a soul mate. The missing piece that completes a person.

Jon feels warmth settle in his chest, but the yearning seems to increase tenfold.

He has spent his life listless and now he belongs.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been a year since I've written anything, hope this isn't complete shit, and worth adding to the jonerys land fill.


	3. Unraveled

The self is mysterious, but it is less of an anomaly when the soul has been completed.

With the formation of their bond, the eyes that were windows to the soul becomes moot. Simmering beneath the surface are a tidal wave of emotions. From Dany he experiences passion, tenderness, but above those is the crushing weight of anguish.

The bond demands to be completed, but at this moment Dany does not need just a lover, but a confidant. She is in mourning; thus Jon responds accordingly. Though his body has been abused, from fighting the good fight against the dead, to the hypothermic waters and freezing temperatures beyond the Wall. But he cares naught, he pulls himself up against the head board, and does not hesitate to reach for her. She comes willingly; he enfolds her in his embrace, gathering her close. She straddles his waist, burying her face in his shoulder.

"If I could take it all back, I would," his gruff voice pronouces.

The facade of the dragon queen begins to crumble, her voice breaking as she says, "You have to understand, my dragons are the only children I will ever have."

He nods, a gesture felt from him to her, and tightens his arms around her. She trembles, and he feels dampness on his shoulder.

Words are wind, especially in this endeavor. Instead Jon shows her through their bond; he floods her with compassion, understanding, and an undercurrent of emotion that has become present in their every interaction.

Overwhelmed, her breath stutters, and she allows herself to sob.

There is no shame in vulnerable, and here between them is only acceptance.

* * *

It is strange that no one has come to check on them. Jon supposes that the queen had been by his side for hours while he laid unconscious. It is only fair he return the vigilance.

She had fallen asleep once she had exhausted herself from crying. He soon joins her, the weariness and the weight of the world catching up with him.

* * *

It's her touch that awakens him; electric in the path it follows, tracing his scars. The bond between them thrums. His vision clears as he blinks his eyes open and he finds warmth settled on his side, peering at his chest.

He stirs, the muscles in abdomen shifting, body stiff from it's strange sleeping position. She's taken off her great coat, and is left in a chemise, trousers, and pleated underskirt.

The mere feel of her skin against his, makes warmth settle in like sweetness in the belly. She pauses in her exploration, but does not pull away. His body protests at that, but he ignores it. Listening as she quietly voices, "What Ser Davos said was true." The statement is both a question and a reiteration of fact. "I have seen worse, but those wounds were on dead men. How are you alive?”

"Sorcery; a red witch brought me back." He was not one for words, but she has access to his emotions and feels the deep well of them associated with his death and apparent resurrection.

She settles a palm over his heart and listen to the steady beat of it. "And so you live and will continue on doing so."

She sits up and briefly struggles with Jon's unwilling arms; he does not want to let her go.

Daenerys looks at him fiercely, "We will defeat the Nights King, and live." Her resolve reverberates through him, and the desperation he has been holding to seems to ebb away.

However, solemnly he says, "I am sorry it had to be this way."

She shakes her head, and melancholy suffuses the bond, "If you had not gone, I would not have seen the dead, our common enemy. And I would have never found you, my soulmate." The loss of her child for such gains goes unsaid.

Jon reaches out a callused hand, and palms her cheek. He confesses, "I have waited a long time for you, Dany."

She leans into his touch, "As I have you, nor have I heard that name in years."

Jon smiles briefly, "Then how about my queen. Now that you are with the North, I will bend--"

"No," Dany interrupts him, "If we are made for one another, then we are equals." Resolutely she says, "You are my king, and I your queen."

Jon is all astonishment, "You cannot mean a marriage."

She smiles beatifically, "An alliance between the King in the North and the Dragon Queen. We are complete together."

Dany reaches for his hand and knots her slim fingers through his. A searing pain comes again, this time their soul marks appearing are their opposing arms. The bond between pulses, begging for completion.

Jon does not hesitate to haul Daenerys forward, and she meets him in a searing kiss.

This world is not kind, the gods even less so.

But their "gift" is a kindness in a world full of strangers.


	4. Body Electric

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow is the day of reckoning! I'M NOT READY GAHHHHH, boatsex, Jon and dany becoming a blended family whooo!
> 
> Thank you for the subscriptions, kudos, and faves. Now a days i have no time to write fanfiction, zero muse, and commitment issues to multi-chaptered fics, but this was awesome to write and this fandom made it wortwhile.

They sing the body electric.

Every touch, miniscule or deliberate is sensory overload, enhanced by their bond.

Her eyes are slow to open, lashes long against her cheeks. Her face, neck, and chest are flushed. Observing her as he tries to gather his breath, he has never seen such a beguiling sight.

Their eyes meet and a fire rises.

She once again straddles him, lacing her fingers into his curls as she licks into his mouth. She settles on to his lap, presses herself as close to him as she can. Her hips begin to unconsciously rock against his, and warmth pools molten and sweet.

He reaches for the first impediment that stands between them, and struggles to unclasp her pleated underskirt. "You are wearing far too many clothes," He huffs.

Dany pushes his hands away and releases the clasps on it. "Says the Northman who wears layers upon layers of furs," She counters.

"You have no need for so many silly clothes." He tugs at the hem of her chemise and helps her pull it over her head and down her arms.

"You are fire made flesh," he responds smoothing his hands down her arms, causing her twin soulmarks to ignite and send warmth pooling.

He nips at her jaw, nudges back her head to nuzzle at her neck, and then mouths at her, finding a soft spot to suck on.

Above she gasps, and bears down on him, grinding her hips until she finds a steady rhythm against the growing hardness between her legs.

She whines as his hands wander upward to twist and pinch her hardened nipples. Jon follows a steady path back to her mouth, palming one of her breasts, and slipping one threw her long hair.

The soul bond pulses, and touch is not enough, _it is too_ much.

There is a struggle in the removal of her trousers. Dany pulls away, rising to her knees between his parted legs, twisting her hips while Jon takes the initiative to help her by pulling them off her feet. Jon abruptly tugs the material, and Daenerys is thrown off balance.

Eyes wide with surprise, arms flailing to keep her balance, she goes vertigo until Jon stops her mid-fall. Half hanging off the side of the feather bed, Daenerys dissolves into laughter while Jon's strong arms pull her up. He shakes his head at her antics, a seldom seen grin painting his features.

He kisses the laughter from her open mouth, he slides a hand up her back feeling the smooth expanse of her skin, the dip of her back, and then settles on the delicate curve of her neck. The other hand slides downward, where dampness has gathered, and warmth is exuded, palming her cunt.

He murmurs, "Show me what you like."

Daenerys is not shy about what she wants, she guides him, focusing on that bundle of nerves that makes her gasp. Twisting a set of fingers to meet her undulating hips, the combination of both leaves her softly moaning. She steadily rides his hand, but it is not enough, not what her body craves.

She drags her nails down his chest, watching as his eyes darken and dilate, he grunts when she reaches down to grasp his cock, and then groans as she strokes him once, twice, thrice. Her touch is overwhelming.

The moment of reckoning is upon them.

She slides him between her legs, rubbing her slit along the length of his cock, teasing her clit. He grips her hips tightly when she finally pushes him inside, and begins the descent. The stretch burns slightly, but the pain is a pleasurable one.

She places her hands against his abdomen and begins a slow rhythm, Jon surging up to meet her descents.

Their skin is tacky with sweat, mouths meet, inhaling and exhaling in mingled breaths. A cadence of sighs, and muffled groans plays as the bond between them becomes a feedback loop of emotion, discerning where her pleasure begins and his ends is an impossibility.

The dance that is older than humanity mounts, the soulbond is completed.     


End file.
